Night in the Cemetery
by Jacquelina-Comm
Summary: A Zombie!AU fic. When Larry Daley accepts a job at the Pharaoh's Tomb Cemetery as the night guard, he didn't think he would have to babysit a bunch of animated corpses every night. This is not a horror story, because flesh-eating zombies scare me.
1. Chapter 1

I thought of this story when I read a Night at the Museum/Five Nights at Freddy's crossover, and I thought: "I would love to read this if it didn't give me nightmares." So, here it is, a zombie au story for people who get scared easily by the undead.

Once again, I do not own NATM or anything associated with it.

* * *

When Larry Daley went to the unemployment agency in search of a job, the last offer he expected to get was that of night guard for the Pharaoh's Tomb Cemetery. The cemetery was a creepy-looking place, with twisted, barren trees just visible above a high, vine-covered stone wall topped with metal spikes surrounding the grounds. Larry had never seen anyone enter or exit the place, and he had never seen any funerals there, despite the fact that he had several jobs in the past that required him to drive past that location. It was kind of like a creepy version of Willy Wonka's factory, and it gave him the willies. He had no desire to stay there overnight, or even during the day.

Unfortunately, Larry was desperate and had no other options when it came to job interviews, so he would have to swallow his fear if he wanted to pay his rent. That is, if he managed to get the job at all. The unemployment lady had told him that several people had applied for the job already, but had all been turned down.

For a few minutes, Larry just sat in his car outside the huge wooden gates that blocked his path into the cemetery. Weren't cemeteries supposed to have wrought-iron gates that let you see inside? What kind of cemetery didn't want you to see inside? Did they have cult practices in there or something?

"Okay, Larry, you're stalling." Larry muttered to himself. "Remember why you're here. Just open the gates and drive on in."

The wooden gates gave a low groaning sound as Larry pulled them open, as if they weren't meant to open and they were complaining about Larry making them do something outside of their job description. Larry couldn't help but notice that they were each so thick that a hoard of Vikings probably wouldn't have been able to get through it with a battering ram. Once again, he wondered what kind of cemetery he was applying to guard, and whether he should turn around and go back home before he got in too deep.

Larry was just about to lose his nerve, when he heard someone call out a greeting. He turned to see an older man in a guard uniform approaching him from among the tombstones. He was a good-looking man for someone of his age, and still had his full head of hair, white though it may be. He also had a friendly face, which was a relief to Larry. If it had been some weirdo hunchback named Igor, then he would have turned and bolted.

"Hello." The man greeted him warmly. "I'm Cecil Fredericks, one of the night guards of this establishment. What can I help you with?"

Larry shook his hand, noticing that Cecil had a strong grip for a man his age. "I'm Larry. Larry Daley. I'm here for the interview?"

"Ah, good. Then I'll show you around once you park your car."

Once the car was parked and the gates shut once again, Cecil led Larry on a walk among the tombstones. They were all really old and really strange looking. There was a small monument with Theodore Roosevelt on it; a tombstone that seemed to be made of petrified wood; a marble tombstone decorated with a sheriff's star; a marble bust of what looked like a Roman emperor; and marker that looked less like a tombstone than it did a funeral pyre; just to name a few of them. What was especially strange was that none of them seemed to have names to go with them. Larry was about to ask about this, but was cut off when Cecil began to speak.

"So what made you choose to try out for this job?" The old guard asked. He had Larry's resume in his hand and was looking at it while they walked.

"Well, I wasn't going to at first, to be honest." Larry replied. "It's just that I'm divorced, and my exe won't let me see my son unless I get a job that can support a certain lifestyle. This is the only one that the unemployment agency would point me towards."

Normally Larry would not be this blunt with his interviewer, but in this case he was actually half hoping that he wouldn't get the job. This place wasn't so bad in the sunlight, but he got the feeling that it would be skin-crawlingly creepy once it got dark. He wasn't going to walk out of the interview because he was scared, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be relieved if he didn't get the job.

Cecil just nodded at Larry's response, apparently unperturbed by Larry's unstable personal life. "Okay then." He said, gesturing to a small chapel at the end of the path. "Come on in, and I'll introduce you to my partners."

The two men entered the chapel, which was completely empty of people except for two elderly men each about the same age as Cecil. One was a dark-skinned gentleman with a beard, who was seated comfortably in a small recliner and reading a book. The other was a short, round man with bulldog jowls and almost no hair. He was sleeping on one of the pews and snoring like a chainsaw, although it didn't seem to bother his friend.

"Reginald, Gus." Cecil called out to the two men respectively as he and Larry approached.

Reginald looked up calmly from his book, but Gus awoke with such a start that he fell off the pew and onto the floor in an undignified heap. Larry had to bite his lip to keep from laughing, because if his mother taught him nothing else, it was to be respectful to the elderly.

"Where is he? I'll beat him with my fist!" Gus snarled as he scrambled to his feet. Neither Reginald nor Cecil replied to this, but rolled their eyes in a manner that suggested that sort of comment came out of Gus' mouth a lot.

"Gus, Reginald, this is Larry Daley." Cecil said. "He wants the job of night guard here."

Gus came over and looked Larry up and down. "He looks like a weirdy." He said at last, in that incredibly rude way that only really young and really old people can get away with.

Cecil laughed off the comment. "Wonderful guard, terrible people skills." He said cheerfully. He then turned to Reginald and Gus. "Larry here has the qualifications for the job, and he needs it in order to clear up some problems at home. I say we give him a shot." He told them.

The other two guards exchanged a look. "Then it sounds like you're hired." Reginald said, in the calm manner that he seemed to do everything.

"Um, well, I was hoping to be able to think about it…" Larry said nervously. He still wasn't sure how keen he was on the idea of working here at night.

"Do you want the job or not, Snack Shack?" Gus demanded, while pushing aggressively into Larry's personal space. Considering that the night guard only came up to Larry's chest, it should have been laughable, but it was enough to make Larry back away from him.

"Yes, yes, I want the job." He said reluctantly. There went any chance of him backing out.

"Perfect." Reginald held out his hand for Larry to shake. "Welcome aboard."

Why did Larry suddenly feel like he was about to sell his soul to the devil? Swallowing thickly, he reached out and accepted the handshake.


	2. Chapter 2

Larry had never wanted to go to work less than he did that night. The cemetery was just as creepy at night as he suspected it would be, and the only thing he had for a weapon was the flashlight currently hooked onto his belt. The fact that Cecil had felt the need to give him directions had not made him feel any better. He was in a field full of dead people, what the heck would he need directions for? Was he right about the cult gatherings after all?

As directed by Cecil, Larry chained the main gates closed with a huge padlock after the old night guards left. It felt more like he was locking himself in rather than other people out. After that was done, he walked along the perimeter to make sure that there were no holes in the wall or the ground that might let someone in. Satisfied that there were none, he went back to the chapel and looked around.

A large, gold tablet with swivel panels set into it immediately caught his eye, and he wondered how he didn't notice it when Cecil brought him in earlier. The thing was covered in what looked like hieroglyphs, which was a weird thing to find in a very non-Egyptian chapel, but it made sense since the cemetery was called the Pharaoh's Tomb. What was the point of naming a place "Pharaoh's Tomb" if there wasn't anything Egyptian about it? It looked old, so it could be authentic, but Larry wasn't anywhere near qualified to tell if it was actually from ancient Egypt. The tablet was hung on the wall behind the alter, so it was very obviously meant to be here, so Larry decided he had best leave it alone.

Bored now, Larry turned and studied the only thing in the one-room building that wasn't a piece of furniture: a large, stone urn that sat in one corner. Like the tablet, the urn was covered in hieroglyphics, but what struck Larry as strange was the fact that it was sealed shut with what looked like an iron clamp lid. Another chunk of iron about the size of Larry's head rested on top of the lid's flat surface, as though to weigh it down. Larry wondered whose ashes were inside, and why they were contained in such a strange manner.

A note was stuck to the container, and Larry moved forward to read it. As it turned out, it was from Cecil. He must have known that Larry would come over and look at the urn, although sticking post-it notes on a funeral urn struck the newbie guard as being rather disrespectful to its deceased occupant. He pulled the note off and read it aloud to himself.

"Don't forget to do your rounds. I know the grounds are creepy at night, but you aren't getting paid to hang around in the chapel. Remember: Don't let anything in or out. Good luck. Cecil. P.S. don't forget the instructions I gave you."

Don't let anything in or out. As if this couldn't get any creepier. Larry could understand "don't let anything in", but what on Earth would be trying to get out of the cemetery? He felt a shudder go down his back. If Cecil thought he was helping Larry with his fears, then the old man needed to reevaluate his people skills.

Larry shoved the little voice screaming "run away while you still can" to the back of his mind and grabbed his flashlight off of his belt. Cecil was right about one thing, he was not getting paid to sit around in the chapel. As much as he did not want to, he would have to go outside.

* * *

Outside was just as creepy as Larry had feared it would be.

He felt like he had wandered out onto the set of a classic horror movie. The only light came from the crescent moon (partly shrouded by clouds) and the beam of Larry's flashlight. There was also a thin fog, which didn't conceal anything completely but made identifying objects very difficult at a distance. Even with his flashlight, he had to get within ten feet of an object before he was able to tell definitively what it was. Anything could be out there, and he wouldn't know it until he was right on top of it... or visa versa.

"It's quiet... too quiet." Larry murmured to himself, and it was testament to how nervous he was that he didn't add on "I've always wanted to say that". He was right though, the air was unnaturally silent, as if the entire cemetery was holding its breath, waiting for something. Larry realized that he had been holding his own breath along with it, and forced himself to pull air into his lungs.

The snap of a twig sounded unnaturally loud in the silence, and Larry instinctively whirled around, shining his light into the fog. Nothing. Just lines of tombstones stretching as far as he could see. Granted, he couldn't see very far, due to the fog, but it was still an eerie effect.

Larry relaxed a little. He was being silly. Even if it was super-creepy out there, the most he was likely to run into was a stray cat. Allowing his grip on the flashlight to loosen, he straightened and ran his fingers through his hair. What was he expecting, anyway? A zombie apocalypse?

In hindsight, maybe that last thought was just temping fate.

A movement caught the corner of Larry's eye, and he turned to look at the nearest tombstone. At first, he didn't see anything, and took a couple cautious steps forward to shine his light where he thought he had seen movement. What he saw made his throat go dry. The earth was moving, mounding up as though being pushed up from beneath. Larry staggered backwards, and the flashlight fell from his numb fingers as he watched the dirt get pushed aside to allow a filthy, half-decomposed arm access to the open air.

Later on, Larry would not even bother to deny that he shrieked like a little girl when he felt something clamp onto his ankle. He lashed out instinctively, kicking at the rotting bones gripping his leg until they released him. As soon as he was free, he bolted off among the tombstones with the kind of speed that only pure, unadulterated terror can inspire.


End file.
